Immortality
by Tessabe
Summary: What is it that starts a man onto the path of evil. Plus I just wanted to get one in for Ma'ar


**This story, the beginning of the path that led to Falconsbane and so much suffering caught my attention and I wondered how a man could start on such a path. I know that Mercedes is unlikely to write the story, so I thought I'd give it a shot. Besides no one else has written anything staring Ma'ar that I've found here, so I should have a nice clean slate to start out with. Mercedes owns Ma'ar and the Magewars, Velgarth and everything within. Even this story. Though the details are mine, simply for my own amusement of course. _This is a one-shot, though I am thinking of another Ma'ar story in the future._**

Immortality

Ma'ar sat brooding within his study. He was so close to his dreams. The power was so near he could taste it. Sweeter than the wine at his left hand. Only one last holdout group, Urtho and his underlings stood between him and total power over the known world.

He sighed, what next? The thought had been whispering in his mind of late when victory seemed so certain. He could already feel the first faint nibbling of mortality at his body. The beginnings of his decline into old age and death. He wanted to live, to keep young.

The thought had begun to obsess him these last few months and today, the answer had come to him. It was brilliant and deceptively simple as well. Two main parts were the key to his success. The first he had started years ago, though he hadn't known it would be so important.

Sire as many of his blood as he could, legitmate or not, it didn't matter. Only that they be of his blood. At first he had done it for the loyalty of blood. But now, he was very glad he had done so. A spell tied to the blood, his to theirs, and a trigger. He had thought a great deal on the trigger. What would a young man do just coming into his powers.

That was the target age he was looking for, young enough to have a great many years left in life. Old enough to have their powers available to him. He didn't want to have to waste time reliving his childhood. It would have been too dangerous, especially since the spell would be a direct blood tie, from boy to boy a direct line from him. If a body died he would have to wait for a brother or descendant for a new body.

And the target had to have the potential of an Adept. Hmm, he thought. Firestarting was a simple spell, one a young boy might try before he had full training, that was another consideration, a young boy wouldn't have the training to fight him off.

He sighed, when the solution had first come to him he had been appalled. He had set it aside as unthinkable, an abomination to his kin and children. But then, the thought kept returning. He knew it would work and he hadn't found any other alternative. It seductively ate at his morals, his sense of right. He smiled grimly, he knew his enemies wouldn't believe he had morals, but at one time he had been very careful to do what was right.

And now, the quest for power which had first come about for the best of reasons, had eaten away at him. He had done things in this war that as a young man would have shocked him. And this new obsession was eating away at what was left of the person he had been as a young man.

But he had so much knowledge to give to the world, so much would be lost if he died. I have to do this, he thought. It's important.

Days later he read the parchment again, he did it. The spell was laid out fully here. Tonight he would create the pocket in the nether regions to house his soul and then he would start crafting the spells tying him to that pocket and set up the trigger spells and the spell tied to his blood.

A mingled feeling of elation and dread filled him. Immortality was within his grasp. But the price, that was what gave him an uneasy feeling. He could still turn back, he hadn't done it yet, just burn the parchment and nobody would know. Nobody except him.

Later in the evening, he traced out the shielding and the mechanics of the spell to open the gateway to the nether regions. He had been fascinated with these pocket universes ever since he had discovered the first one so many years ago. This one was very isolated, it was unlikely that a demon would be there when he opened it to work, but he was taking no chances.

He carefully outlined the shield on the black slate floor of his workroom. His people knew better than to disturb him when he was working, so he knew he had the time to do this right. He outlined the edges of the circle with his magic, slicing into his own palm to add his blood to power to the spell. Being that blood was an integral part of the spell it was fitting he use this method.

The power flared up red and sullen as the shields came fully into being. Standing within he activated the inner shields, the nether regions were not kind to human flesh, there was something about the place that was dangerous to it, though the spirit or soul was safe enough if protected correctly.

Standing between the two shields he felt the power tingle over his skin, strong and alive in its own way. It was times like this he lived for, the joy of a major working. The intricate parts all working together for one great whole.

Once the gateway was opened, he felt for the fabric of the pocket universe and wove it into a fold of space to cradle his soul. It resisted at first, but another cut to his palm and the feeding of his blood finished it and he tied a small piece of his soul to the pocket. A pathway that would propel him there if his body died.

It would be quicker and more likely if he died violently, such a death would grant great power. The pain wasn't something he looked forward to, but he could stand a little pain if it meant continued life.

Finally the thing was done, there was no turning back. He needed to cast the next part of the spell. The trigger and ties of blood. If he didn't do it now he would be trapped in the pocket of the nether regions for eternity, not something he wanted. He wished to live forever true, but not like that.

He waited a day to do the next working. His nerves were on edge until he could start, if anything happened to him before the next step he would be trapped in a fate worse than death. A long slow slide into insanity trapped within the pocket with no means of escape. It was a fate he contemplated with more than a touch of horror.

It was finally with great relief that he began the next step. He had gathered samples of the blood of all his children. The many vials lay on the workbench before him. This time he made no shield, the walls of his workroom had adequate shields already and he needed to conserve his energy. He had been working a long time before this and he wasn't as young as he used to be.

At the end of the simple appearing ceremony he upended each vial of blood into the ceramic bowl. Finished with the last one, he cut his palm again and added his own, mixing the whole with his power, combining the lot into one. As the spell took hold he felt the connection slip into place, her felt the link slide over some, the less than adept class and tie into those who fit the parameters of the spell.

He felt when it fell into place, there it was done and couldn't be undone. Immortality was his. He wondered that he didn't feel more elation, he simply felt tired. After cleaning up he retired to his study to recuperate from the working.

Now all he had to do was scatter his children and hope for the best.

_**I've been fiddling around with this as I see something that bothers me about it, mostly minor stuff anyway. **_

_**And in response to the last review, yeah, I know, I plan on writing a real story about the begining of his slide later when I have less unfinished stories. This was just a beginning, a look at the spell that led to Falconsbane. When I actually post the story, I'll add a note here.**_


End file.
